Kris and Gardevoir
by PokemonFan151
Summary: Kris is a boring teenager with only the slightest interests. When Missy, a sporadic trainer from a foreign region, ends up dragging him along on a region-wide chase/adventure, Kris may just realize that there may still be much in store for him.
1. Now Accepting OCs

So, if you're reading this, chances are you read my profile and came to check it out. Or, you just happened to stumble upon this yet even-started fanfic from a search result. Well, either way, I'll still give you a brief explanation.

This is a Trainer OC template for the fanfic you thought you were going to read. For every trainer OC I receive VIA PERSONAL MESSAGE, I will promise to upload a chapter of my more popular fanfic, 'Special Origins.' If I receive a trainer OC any other way, I claim license to sculpt, mangle, maul, and mess with any aspect of them in any way. Your fault for not reading the rules.

Anyway, here's the template!

Name

Nickname (If applicable)

Gender

Age (15 and above)

Personality (Flesh out as much as possible)

Appearance (Eye color, hair color, etc.)

Clothes (General outfit, extra clothes, specific event clothes, etc.)

History (Don't go extremely overboard, but a plain past is no way for a story)

Region (Where they were born. Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinnoh, and Unova are all fair game. Just to warn you, this fanfic takes place in a fleshed out region of my own. Foreign regions aren't preferred, but I may go with it if I feel like it)

Goals (What does your OC want to be? Breeder? Gym Leader? Elite Four? etc.)

Likes

Dislikes

Pokémon (General party, nicknames (if applicable), gender, moves. PLEASE BE REASONABLE. Most legendaries are rejected and almost no shinies will be accepted. No extreme powerhouses, either. PLEASE BE REASONABLE.)

Thank you for your time.


	2. A Challenger Was Approached

Kris Johnson lay in bed, his eyes closed but wide awake. Despite it being noon, Kris was still dressed in his pajamas, which consisted of a white T-shirt and sweatpants. A pair of headphones were on his ears, blasting music into his head.

_Motivation: such an aggravation,_

_Accusations: don't know how to take them._

_Inspiration: getting hard to fake it._

_Concentration: never hard to break it._

_Situation: never what you want it to be._

It was pretty safe to say that Kris wasn't a particularly adventurous person; in fact, he pretty much strived for the average. The middle of the road. Sure, he had hobbies, but he had a loose schedule in his life, and found comfort in following it.

Feeling something tugging on the bedsheet, Kris turned his head to see Punk, his Growlithe, with the sheet in his mouth. Kris sat up, ruffling the puff of fur on the peak of Punk's head. He slipped the headphones from his ears so they hung from his neck and slipped his iPod into his pocket.

"I suppose you know what time it is," Kris remarked. Punk had had a scheduled feeding time ever since Kris received him two years ago, and never failed to remind Kris should he ever forget. "OK, boy. Just let me get dressed and I'll get you fed."

After a quick change of clothes, Kris headed downstairs, the Puppy Pokemon faithfully at his heels.

Punk had been a gift for Kris six years ago, when the teen was ten. His father, whose work required him to travel quite a bit, returned from Johto with a young, excitable Growlithe pup. As far as appearances went, this Growlithe seemed normal, but the fluff of cream-colored fur on top of his head drooped forward a bit, making him look like a punk with a mohawk. The nickname stuck, and the Growlithe was forever called Punk by Kris and his parents.

The trainer/Pokemon bond went fairly well between Punk and Kris. Despite knowing Kris's father for two weeks more than Kris, Punk took a greater liking to the kid than his parent. Perhaps this may be because the Growlithe was also young, but the real reason was unknown by everyone but Punk, and he certainly wasn't up to telling. Kris and Punk connected exceptionally well; After only a couple days, Kris could already tell that Punk was exceptionally careful, loved bitter-tasting food, hated dry food, and was perpetually confused by reflective surfaces and lazer pointers.

While the connection didn't fade as Punk and Kris grew older, but it slowed down. This wasn't exactly unwelcome as far as the two were concerned; they both seemed to take comfort in the safe repetition that their lives brought them.

"Well, good to see you're out of bed," Kris's mother said dryly as her son and his Pokemon walked into the kitchen, standing at the opposite side of the island counter in the room. Her attention was focused on the contents of the fridge, she said, "look, I've an errand for you to run while you take Punk out for a walk." Inwardly, Kris sighed. If his sixteen years with his mother had told him anything, it's that 'I-have-an-errand-for-you' was code-speak for 'get out of the house.'

"What do I have to do?" Kris asked. The teen walked around the island counter and grabbed a soda from the open fridge. He put the soda down and started wrapping up some Rawst berries up in a napkin, a snack for Punk.

"I need you to run to Ambergrove and pick up a package I had ordered," Kris's mother explained, washing her hands at the sink. "If you leave now, it should be there by then. Here's the address." Giving her hands a quick drying with a dishtowel, she handed her son a scrap of paper with an address hastily scribbled on it in pen.

"DBP2C?" Kris wondered aloud, reading the address. "In Ambergrove? Well, Punk, look's like we've got a long walk ahead of us." The total trip would at least take half an hour; the walk to Ambergrove was a mile and a half, and Kris's mile pace was ten minutes. "Let's get going."

Kris and Punk took out the front door.

About twenty minutes into the walk and with Ambergrove visible on the horizon, Punk suddenly started barking. Kris, confused at Punk's outburst, asked, "Punk? What's wrong, boy?"

Punk, instead of stopping, barked at an increasingly loud volume and took off running down the path.

"Gah! Punk, get back here!" Kris shouted, chasing after his Pokemon. Unbeknownst to Kris, a rock, half-buried in the dirt path, was intent on foiling his plan. Kris took a painful, not to mention embarrassing, tumble into the dusty dirt path.

After spitting out the dirt from his mouth, Kris saw Punk a little further up the road, receiving a petting session by a teenager, probably around sixteen or seventeen.

"H-hey! That's my Pokemon!" Kris shouted, rushing over to Punk and the teen. "Sorry about that. He just took off."

"Oh, don't worry. It's no problem," the teen said, giving Punk a stare. "In fact..." He reached into his pocket. "I think I might have a treat for you." Kris, who knew Punk's reputation from accepting food from anyone but him, was surprised to see the Growlithe gobble up the Rawst berry the teen offered him.

"Huh. He doesn't normally take food from strangers," Kris mused aloud.

"Oh, I'm pretty good with Pokemon," the teen replied. "So, he's yours?"

Kris gave the teen a look over. He was a moderately tall, olive-skinned creature with black hair whose state was questionable. The sheer quantity and length of it made Kris wonder whether it was a wig or not, and only a quick tug would prove it. Of course, Kris was too well-mannered and adjusted to do that, so he decided to reply to the teen's question. "Yeah, he's my Pokemon. His name's Punk."

"Punk, huh?" The mysterious kid gave Punk a quick glance. "Yeah, I can see where you'd get that." His attention snapped back to Kris, suddenly much more serious. "You up for a quick battle?"

"Umm..." When it came to battling, Kris wasn't the best. Sure, he'd battle with his friends from time to time, and he'd win occasionally, but he didn't know the stranger's Pokemon at all. And battling had never been a particularly strong suit for him. "Well... OK, I'll be straight with you; Battling's not really my cup of tea..."

"Hey, I was just wondering," the teen offered. "I'm not the best at battling, either. Just a friendly battle to make a new friend with, you know? Oh, that reminds me! Where are my manners? I'm Brian." The teen, Brian, offered Kris his hand. Kris shook it, gaining a bit of confidence.

"Kris. You know what? I'll take you up on your offer. Let's battle!"


End file.
